


Melody Will Play On

by orphan_account



Series: Chao's Kink Bingo [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Drag Queens, Other, Silk Velvet Feathers Fur, Textiles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:44:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been spending a lot of time with his new friends.  It was only a matter of time before they asked if he wanted to try.</p><p>AKA That one where Stiles is Little Red the Drag Queen</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melody Will Play On

**Author's Note:**

> Title from' Love You Like A Love Song' by Selena Gomez & The Scene

It was nice to have connections. Like the ones that got him into The Jungle without needing a fake ID, and got him in around the Bouncer by sneaking him in the back door. And the ones who bought him a new, scandalously named fruity drink every time and made him give his opinion. Most importantly, the ones who were perfectly open and ecstatic to tell him all about their experiences in the effort of helping a teenage boy come to terms with himself.

Currently, that connection went by the name of Ginger (non-stage-name: Nick), who was applying eyeliner with the precision of an artist without looking at the mirror. He was winding down his story about how he’d ended up doing drag, but his eyes were getting sharper and sharper. “Have you ever thought about it?”

“Thought about acting? No, not really.” Stiles replied, leaning back so his chair balanced on two legs and swirling his empty glass in his fingers. “Not really my thing. I have it on very good authority that I’m not a good liar.”

Rolling his eyes, Ginger snorted and adjusted his curly red wig. It was a little ironic, since his hair was a natural red underneath. Really, they were almost the same color. But his hair was pretty short, so Stiles guessed it wouldn’t work for drag. “No, not that, dope. I mean drag. You ever wanted to try it?”

Stiles’ cheeks went pink, and he rubbed them as Ginger watched in clear amusement. “Um, once or twice. About the dressing up and the uh... being watched. I’d probably screw it up, though.”

Pulling up the straps of the Union Jack leotard thing, Ginger reapplied lipstick one last time, and Stiles mentally reminded himself to go with ‘she’ until after the show. “That’s why we practice, Honey. And you know the boss thinks you’re adorable. If you wanted to, he’d be more than happy to give you a shot.”

That was true enough. Half the time it was Mr. Harris who gave him his drink and let him in. But still.

Shrugging, Stiles kept his gaze on his glass, flicking his finger against the rim to make it ring. “The only time I’ve ever sung is in the shower. And its... I dunno. Its hard.”

Ginger started to coo at him, standing so she could no doubt pet his hair (a few people had joked about it becoming a good luck ritual before going on state. Too many others had looked agreeing rather than amused), but Baby poked her head around the mirror. “We go on in two, c’mon!”

Sighing, Ginger waved a hand with wicked looking nails, and Baby rolled her eyes and disappeared. Turning back to him, she patted his cheek smartly, smirking when he crinkled his nose. “Just think about it. Promise?”

“Promise,” Stiles replied, and rolled his eyes when she snagged her pinky in her and shook them. “Now go before you get in trouble.”

Giving a little swing of her hips, Ginger tossed her hair. “Honey, I am _always_ trouble.” With that she sashayed off, and a minute later the first strands of ‘Wannabe’ floated off stage.

Casting a last glance back, Stiles slid over to the seat she had vacated, staring at himself in the bedazzled, glittered mirror. He ran his fingers over the make-up containers, and then slid through through a feathered boa Ginger had left on the table. Biting his lower lip, he ducked his head. He wanted to. The real question was, did he have the courage to do it?

***

And that was how Stiles found himself shaking in heels on the stage, clad in a frilly white and red dress and wearing a silk, blood red cloak. “How do you walk in these things?” He called, as another wobble almost knocked him off his feet and probably would have broken his poor, bare ankles. That were shaved. Because these people were vicious.

Mr. Harris just arched a blond brow at him. “Practice,” he replied dryly. “You don’t even have to walk much in them, what are you complaining about?”

“No, not much walking. Running, yes, but not walking,” Stiles grumbled back, playing with the tops of the white gloves. It hadn’t been his idea to be Little Red Riding Hood, but when someone had suggested it (“Because don’t you just wanna eat him up!”) his twitch of surprise had sealed the deal. And he should have backed out right then and there, but... well... there might have been something about that scenario that he actually really liked, but that was a personal issue and he wasn’t getting into that.

Waving an imperious hand at him, Mr. Harris adjusted his hat and huffed. “Less chatting, more blocking. You don’t even have to sing! You should be bowing at me feet.” Stiles shot him a dry look, but there was some truth to that. Mr. Harris really didn’t have to be giving him this chance, ‘adorable little baby twink’ or no. So he darted over to his next marked spot, where he was told there would be a fake tree later, and mimed peaking out from behind it, trying not to feel too stupid. 

Distracted as he was by Mr. Harris’ direction, he didn’t register the footsteps behind him until a pair of furry arms clamped around him and then lifted, pulling him completely off his feet. Stiles most certainly did not squeak in a way that would make a couple of the bystanders coo and laugh at him, but he did flail helplessly in Burt’s grasp. “Dude!”

Chuckling, the larger man set him down and patted his head, making the long, dark wig slip out of place. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” Noticing a glare from the audience, he sent Mr. Harris a winsome smile. “Aww, sir, don’t gimme that. You wouldn’t be able to resist either. Lookit how cute he is.” He patted Stiles on the head again, like he was the one in the wolf costume, and ignored Mr. Harris’ grumbles that _he most certainly could_. “Okay, I get it. I’ll get into place.” Snorting, Burt made his way over to his own starting point, grin appropriately wolfy. 

Mr. Harris’ frowned at him, but Burt’s teddy bear nature made it hard to stay mad. Instead he just sighed and twirled his fingers at Stiles. “Okay, from the top, this time with music.”

The first notes of ‘Hungry Like The Wolf’ drowned out Stiles’ distressed groan.

When they were finally, finally done (and Mr. Harris had deemed him ‘acceptable’ for his stage, which Burt was quick to inform him meant he’d done a good job), they’d cleaned up and prepared to get some rest before The Jungle opened for business that night. Unused to the process of getting make-up off his face and dealing with getting out of his costume (his dress was _complicated_ , okay?), Stiles ended up being the last in the building. Right before he left, Mr. Harris informed him that the door was already locked, and he should leave whenever he was ready.

Which left Stiles packing his things away all alone. That included the silk cape, because he might have spilled a little Mountain Dew on the bottom, and he figured he should wash that before Mr. Harris noticed. Besides, it shouldn’t be needed until the weekend anyway, so hopefully no one would notice that it was missing. Once it was folded neatly into his backpack, Stiles cast one last look around to see if he’d missed anything. He hadn’t so far as he could tell, but his eyes did land on the ‘wolf’ costume.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But that one shouldn’t be missing either, and so long as he was careful...

Mentally berating himself for this act of stupidity, Stiles snagged one of the elbow length gloves. It was all black and soft too the touch, and he shivered a little when it brushed against the sensitive inner part of his arm. Still ignoring his better sense, Stiles shoved that in the bag as well, glancing around like someone was going to burst out of the shadows and set off an alarm or something.

Trying not to blush too hard, Stiles shouldered his bag and then slipped out the door, making sure it had indeed locked behind him, before practically running to his jeep.

***

It took a full day for Stiles to gather the courage (well, maybe that was the wrong word) to pull out the garments. They had taken to being stuffed in the bag surprisingly well, most due to some friendly hints as to how to pack certain materials. He was naked from the waist up, and Stiles ran a quick hand over the silk of the cape before sliding over his bare shoulders. It felt glorious without the barrier, slipping like water over his skin. Unable to help it, Stiles shivered and drew the cloak farther over his shoulders, so it brushed over his nipples, making them pebble almost at once.

Twisting his head, he was able to catch sight of himself in the mirror. Red really was his color - Stiles had kind of always knew that, but it took on a new meaning now - and combined with his pale skin, he looked almost delicate. Pretty, even. Maybe desirable. It would be nice for someone to look at him in want instead of irritation for once.

Emboldened, Stiles popped open the fly of his pants to give him a little room, and then reached back into the pack to grab the furry glove. It was almost cartoony, and the color wasn’t exactly right, but it would certainly do. He slipped it on and wiggled his fingers, making sure it fit him reasonably well (Burt was a much bigger guy then him, but everything he wore was tight and revealing, so that probably helped).

Then, almost shyly, he nuzzled the side of his face against the fur. It wasn’t the most expensive stuff, so the material underneath was kind of scratchy, but the fur itself was soft and fluffy and clung to his cheek a little when he moved, like the strands wanted to stay with him. There was something luxurious about it all that made Stiles shiver and want to bask. If he could, he would have made some kind of nest with the materials and curled up in it, letting it comfort and soothe and rub.

Kicking his pants off the rest of the way, Stiles shifted his shoulders to make the silk slide a little, and then pressed the gloved hand to his stomach. It felt so foreign he was almost able to disconnect that it was just himself, and instead he closed his eyes and tried to be somewhere else. 

Flopping back on his bed, he turned over so he was on his knees, chest pressed into the covers and ass in the air. He trailed the glove over his body, dipping to run over his happy trail and then up his back, scraping over the sensitive place where his ass began. The odd position made the silk slide, rolling up his back in little bursts, and he ground down to feel it against his nipples again.

Breath hitching, Stiles gave in and wrapped his normal hand around his cock and started to pump, while the gloved one gripped his hip possessively. In his mind, _someone_ was leaning over him, growling out directions and make him follow every whim. Turning Stiles into his personal entertainment, and making him want it. He dug his fingers into his own flesh and wished it had claws so he could feel them dig in and leave little marks.

The paw shifted again, this time to rub over his ass like a piece of meat. Like that someone wanted nothing more than to bite into it and lick and taste and _have_ him, but was holding off until Stiles had earned it. In response, Stiles shifted again, scraping the silk against his chest and pumping harder, not stopping for spit or lotion. The someone wanted him raw and aching and needy, wanted it hard and rough, making him whimper and present like a _bitch_. Without meaning to, the glove slipped and brushed through his crack, each individual strand feeling like a separate touch, and Stiles gasped and keened before bucking one final time into his hand. He spilled messily onto his bed, ass still in the air and legs spread wide, practically begging to be taken.

Finally, he collapsed down into his mess, managing to shift to keep the cape from landing in any of it. Stiles might have been cleaning it, but he didn’t want to have to deal with that too. Guilt spread through him, slow and hot, and Stiles raised the glove to stare at it. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be about, but here he was abusing what they’d let him have. Sighing, Stiles clenched his fist and pulled off the glove. 

He really needed to get over this.

Sitting up, Stiles glanced again at the mirror and shuddered at the sight. His pale skin now had a deep flush, and his eyes were bright and almost wild. He was completely nude, except for the blood red clock draping over him, which highlighted just as much as it covered. Part of him thought it would all be better with a vivid hickey on his neck, but of course he didn’t have one. That would require a partner.

Sighing, Stiles stripped that off too and grabbed his boxers, before sliding over to his laptop. He didn’t know the way to clean fur and silk, after all, and that was the very least he could do.


End file.
